Propinquity
by flourchildwrites
Summary: Some looked and saw only the surface interactions, but that was where the Hero of Ishval and the Hawk's Eye failed. Intimacy was a condition that the best poker face could not mask. And Mustang was no exception to the rule: Men in love were fools, risking ruin to indulge their own desires. And at the very heart of the issue, Wrath knew because he and his wife were not so different.


**A/N: My offering for day 1 of Royai Week 2018.**

 **Day 1: Propinquity**

Wrath stalked the underground corridors beneath Central Command with singular purpose. His eyelids felt heavy, and his aged muscles ached from his latest tussle with two Xingese warriors. Yet, Wrath couldn't remember feeling so alive, so consumed by meaningful purpose. Certainly, not since he'd assumed the tiresome mantle of Fuhrer.

But this clandestine meeting would not contain the monotonous bureaucratic bullshit that paraded through his chambers on a daily basis. This gathering was called by Father; therefore, Wrath's presence was neither trivial nor optional. Father's summons could only mean that swift action was required. The kind of ruthless undertaking that quieted Wrath's nerves, making the mundane annoyances of everyday life less infuriating, perhaps even bearable.

And given the timing of Father's writ Wrath did not have to wonder what was on the docket. This was about the candidates, specifically Roy Mustang and the Elrics. The corners of Wrath's stern mouth twitched in anticipation.

Though he knew his way to Father's underground lair well enough, the homunculus' lantern sent circles of light billowing out into the darkness before him to illuminate the rarely trodden path. However, the encroaching darkness seemed to swallow more luminosity with each descending step. Wrath sensed rather than saw a capricious presence lurking just beyond his field of vision.

"That was quite the performance at dinner tonight, son." It wasn't a compliment, just an observation. Undoubtedly, Wrath's statement would rouse something akin to haughtiness in his unseen escort. "Tell me, was it for the woman's benefit or have you grown accustomed to playing happy family?"

A disembodied voice emanated from the darkness and echoed throughout the tunnel. It had the timbre of a child with the measured cadence of a malevolent schemer. "It was for the woman, of course," Pride responded. "You'd do well to placate her more often."

Wrath smirked. "I please her well enough." His retort was curt and dry.

By all accounts, Mrs. Bradley was a dutiful wife and a doting mother. Though she could feign ignorance enough to fool a homunculus with over 250 years of experience, Wrath knew that she realized (in some abstract shape or form) her husband and son served a greater master. She knew her life was a slice of borrowed heaven, and the price would come due. And while allowing his secrets, she loved Wrath in a way he neither expected nor deserved. Moreover and without a shadow of a doubt, Wrath loved her in return, in ways that neither Pride nor Father (for that matter) could comprehend.

The pair walked in silence for the remainder of the descent.

...

"Draw near, my child," Father said languidly from his throne of transmuted metal. Gnarled pipes twisted, tangled and turned over every inch of the surrounding area and glinted in the dim firelight. The fair-haired being motioned for Wrath to join him, and like an obedient child, the one called King Bradley complied.

"What is it you ask of me?" Wrath replied with a veiled air of impatience.

"My rage is strong in you, boy," Father chuckled heartily. "Pride has mentioned some problems with the candidates. Tell me, son, about the Elrics and your flame alchemist."

"Upstarts," Wrath pronounced. "But containable in my opinion. The Elrics are ideal specimens. I have every confidence that they have passed through the gate. And despite their meddlesome streak, I believe that we can subdue them. They care too much about too many."

"And what of Mustang?" Pride's voice soared over the homunculi's heads, reverberating through the dark, domed cavern.

"Yes," Father seconded. He brought his hand to stroke the course, flaxen hair on his chin. "His candidacy is in question given his recent antics. Ability is not the issue. I believe your colonel is gifted enough to open the gate and return, but after Lust…" Father sighed heavily as if grieving was in his repertoire. "I put Mustang in your jurisdiction because you vowed that you could control him, but Pride poses a valid point. We must consider if he is more trouble than he's worth. Surely, there are similarly qualified candidates who have more attachments, who would be easier to persuade."

Wrath laughed. "Is that what Pride has told you? That Mustang is unattached, unbreakable?"

The whites of Pride's eyes suddenly appeared in stark contrast to the darkness of the domed ceiling. Red irises gazed intently at Wrath with ire, and several slit-like mouths barked in Wrath's direction. "I've been watching our Colonel Mustang since he killed Lust, and I have heard every whisper, each act of collusion. Mustang is no fool. He'll leave them all behind, just like he did his injured second lieutenant, Havoc. Better to dispose of him now."

"Have you forgotten that I was there when Mustang killed our sister? So close I could have finished the colonel off myself. Really Pride, have you learned nothing during your time as Selim Bradley?" Wrath's laugh softened until his voice reemerged in a menacing growl. "How can you claim such omniscient sight and yet be so blind? Mustang's adjunct, that woman Hawkeye, is his weakness. For her wellbeing, he'll heel on command like the obedient mutt he is."

"Hawkeye?" Pride scoffed with incredulity. "She's his assistant. A glorified paper-pushing nanny for that insolent…"

"Enough," Father cut in. He raised his hand with minimal effort to silence his oldest child.

Though Wrath was loath to admit it, it was in moments like these that he felt most human. His ultimate eye, a tool that granted him extra-sensory abilities, had not aided in this particular assessment. No, it was what he observed with his green orb, the one his human body was born with, that clued the homunculus hybrid in.

It was in the way Hawkeye's rage had given way to despondency after Lust bragged about extinguishing the colonel's flame. The cold-blooded blonde, a lauded sniper with a bearing that rivaled the indomitable General Armstrong, had hovered desperately over Mustang's broken body when he collapsed, hands trembling when they should have held steady. But the colonel looked upon his subordinate nearly transfixed with relief, not regret or disappointment, holding her gaze like something precious as his very soul threatened to slip from his body.

And there it was again as Hawkeye trailed a step and a half behind her colonel in the hallway of Central Command. Not one, like an obsessive hanger-on. Her devotion was far too nuanced for public displays of affection. Not two or three like nearly all devoted adjuncts. The propriety embedded within most superior officers would not have tolerated such close association with a mere subordinate. And subordinate thought she was, when the eager colonel passed off a folder to his adjunct, he did so without a glance in her direction, trusting, never doubting that she would be there for him.

It was so clear. Riza directed her critical nature toward Mustang with passion when he took too many risks. Roy instinctively brushed animal fur from Hawkeye's shoulder as she handed him his morning cup of coffee. Wrath suspected that the lieutenant never asked her colonel how he wanted anything, from a simple cup of joe to a controversial mission report. Like all long-term lovers (physical consummation was irrelevant), she already knew.

It all added up to an undeniable truth.

Intimacy was a condition that the best poker face could not mask. Their shared glances spoke volumes in a language only the other could decipher. And Mustang was no exception to the rule: Men in love were fools, risking ruin to indulge their own desires. And at the very heart of the issue, Wrath knew because he and his wife were not so different.

Some, like Pride, looked and saw only the surface interactions. Unwisely, they dismissed the undercurrents, the interplay that reality and position had on a relationship. Wrath marveled at the irony of it all. It took one to know one, and that was where the Hero of Ishval and the Hawk's Eye failed.

After a beat, Father spoke once more. "Tell us Wrath. What makes you think that the woman is Mustang's weak point?" His query was direct, laced with an air of finality, and Wrath knew that his response should garner equal definitiveness.

"Propinquity," Wrath answered simply, succinctly and with unwavering certainty.

Father considered his youngest child for a moment, sensing something uncompromising in Wrath's answer. While it was a strange position for such a dutiful offspring to take, he accepted Wrath's rationale without question. "Then proceed as you see fit, my son."

And though Pride sulked no more was said on the matter.

 **A/N: Dear, dear readers who have made it to this point without rage quitting b/c the** **Royai is a little iffy until right before the end, I thank you from the bottom on my sleep-deprived, overeager heart. This one may not fit in 100% with the Brotherhood timeline, but I liked the idea. As always, constructive feedback is GREATLY appreciated! Favorites** **and comments (especially comments) always brighten my day!**


End file.
